


Romeo and Yorak

by angel_fromthe_darkside



Series: Blood of the Covenant [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Lion arrangements, Canon Universe, Fluff and Angst, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) finds his mom, Keith has abandonment issues, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pianist Keith (Voltron), Pre-Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Shiro no longer flies a lion, Space Uncle Coran (Voltron), bc I love him, but he is awake from his coma!!, he's so oblivious he doesn't even know he's pining, i'm still not sorry, minor depictions of violence, minor langst, most of them were accidents, not depicted sorry, oblivious lance, pining lance, so many references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_fromthe_darkside/pseuds/angel_fromthe_darkside
Summary: As Team Voltron slowly begins to regain a sense of normality, and Lance continues his oblivious pining for a certain hotheaded leader (cue many more bonding moments), Keith, lost in his wonderings about his Galra mother, begins to distance himself from the team worse than ever before. Everyone tries to help. Lance ends up the winner. Things aren't completely resolved, however, without some reassurance from Keith's Mother herself.





	Romeo and Yorak

**Author's Note:**

> Pianist Keith who takes after his absent mom?? Sign me the fuCK up (why else do you think I write these things other than for self-indulgence? No seriously, why, I'm running out of excuses).
> 
> I'm gonna be honest, I use google translate for any phrases I put in other languages, no judgment please; I know it's risky. But I live DANGEROUSLY. Cabeza hueca means knucklehead, apparently? My two years in Spanish class gave me nothing to work with, here. (Correct me if Google was wrong lol).
> 
> You're going to wanna know heading into this that when I mention a certain John Harrison, just know that I am not, in fact, referring to the clockmaker from the late 1600's. In reality, I'm talkin' about John Harrison, the 76-year-old professional ice cream taste-tester. Also, I WANT his job. (His taste buds are literally insured for a million dollars, bro).
> 
> Fun drinking game; take a shot every time I make an obscure and/or painfully obvious and cringy reference. (Actually, don't, you're gonna get tipsy real fast.)

 

 

For the first time in -- what, weeks? Months? However long they’ve been out here -- Lance’s smile doesn’t ache, isn’t etched into his skin; not too forced, or unconvincing. He’s finally smiling for real again, almost as effortless as it was way back when.

 

The way it was with his family, slashing around in the crystal blue waters of Varadero Beach and plotting to swipe some garlic knots from Phil’s Pizza Shack with his older siblings when Phil wasn’t looking because Phil loves them and he wouldn’t be too mad. (Worse case scenario: they got caught and their mama had to pay and apologize profusely for her _cabeza hueca_ children). Overall, he remembers his smile being second nature growing up and causing general anarchy.

 

Recently… not so much.

 

“Oh, that’s a nice one! Be sure to show your friends,” Lance says, sending the group of alien girls a wink and finger guns just to get them giggling as they head on their merry way, their phone-like device held in front of them by the girl in the middle, with the picture they just took displayed proudly. Lance’s face is right in front, but he was sure to stand a little off to the side, angling the camera just so, making sure to focus more on the ecstatic smiles each girl wore rather than his signature smirk, which was only partially visible. Everyone already knew what he looked like, but those girls should get to remember how happy they were meeting one of the Paladins of Voltron.

 

“Is it really necessary to feed your ego with selfies like that?” Lance almost jumps, but once the voice registers, he’s immediately in an even better mood, however impossible it should have been.

 

Fighting off a smile, Lance fakes an offended gasp, clutching a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “Oh, you wound me, Mullet! You, with your words of steel and scalding fire on your sharp tongue, have fallen a war veteran such as I with such slander!” Lance stumbles on his feet, wobbling dangerously, and just for the theatrics, adds in a pained whimper. He collapses against an unsuspecting Hunk, who gives him a concerned look. “Help me into some house, Benvolio, for I shall faint.” Hunk rolls his eyes fondly and returns his attention to the middle-age native man he was previously conversing with.

 

Lance staggers back over to Keith, gasping for his ‘last’ breaths. “A plague on both your houses! You’ve made _worm’s_ meat… of me. And, _death.”_ Dramatically, he slumps over and swings a hand up to drape across his forehead, not at all concerned of falling. He knows Keith will catch him, a confidence not wrongly placed.

 

“Wait, was that Shakespeare?” Keith asks, not a trace of strain or effort in his voice at Lance’s deadweight being thrown unexpectedly into his chest. Though it is asked quieter than anticipated, kept almost intimately between the two of them. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Keith sounded breathless.

 

Lance doesn’t answer verbally; he is dead, after all. To keep the act going, he does go to the lengths of letting his tongue dangle from his mouth with a childish _mleh,_ his jaw slack, slumping further into Keith. Impatiently, the former red paladin jostles him slightly, arms wrapped securely under his arms and across his chest. Lance tells himself that it has absolutely no effect on him, but _whoo boy,_ is he lying.

 

“Are you gonna answer? ...That was from Romeo and Juliet, right?”

 

“Keith, _shh,_ don’t be rude!” Lance stage-whispers. “The dead can’t talk, man!”

 

His eyes are obstinately screwed shut, but he can _hear_ the exasperation in Keith’s irritated huff, and as he mutters, “Drama queen. Come on dude, you’re heavy.” Lance holds back a scoff. He knows for a fact that Keith has absolutely no trouble holding Lance’s weight; he could probably bench press him if he really wanted to.

 

_Oh… well, that’s an interesting thought._

 

_Ack! Wait no -- get it together Lance, jeez. Let's keep this PG. No need to deal with your weird shallow attractions to pretty people right now._ Lance silently reprimands himself, shaking the image from his mind. He’s about to whip up a snarky response, complete with a smug grin and wiggly eyebrows (just to be annoying), maybe something like, ‘watch it, Tybalt, you’re next you know,’ when he feels a meek tap on his armor.

 

Standing shyly at their feet is a Yorshivik child with round amber eyes and small brown nubs poking out from their shaggy, emerald green hair; the beginnings of the antler-like extensions adorning a number of the natives the paladins have spoken with so far. One banana-yellow hand is rubbing anxiously at their opposite shoulder, where the skin coloration fades to a soft magenta. There are other pink patches as well; lining their eyes and nose; trailing down their neck; splattered across their arms and legs.

 

“Um, can I take a pic’ure wif you, Blue Paladin?” They ask, shuffling their velcro sneakers through the dirt before hesitantly holding up a camera likely belonging to their mother, who’s standing a few feet back.

 

“What’s the magic word, Airn?” The child glances quickly back at their mother as she speaks, then up to meet Lance’s gaze again, apologetic and eager.

 

“Pwease?”

 

Lance immediately smiles, standing back up on his own two feet and pulling Keith down with him until they’re both at eye level with the kid. “Well, since you asked so nicely... of course!”

 

Airn’s eyes light up, and they scurry forward, holding out the camera for Lance. Quickly, not wanting the kid’s excitement to wane, Lance glances at Keith to his right, where he’s already pushing to his feet to shuffle out of their way. “You wouldn’t mind if my buddy Keith here took one with us, would you?” Lance asks them. He leans close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He flies the Black Lion, ya know. The one that forms Voltron’s head!”

 

Airn nods violently, eyes sparkling with awe. Wiggling away from under Lance’s arm, they scamper up to Keith, making grabby-hands up at his face. “Keef, keef!” They shout, giggling uncontrollably. Noticeably panicked, Keith looks to Lance for help, arms hovering uncertainty by his sides as Airn attempts to climb his legs like a tree. Lance gestures to the kid, now clinging to Keith’s thigh, hoping he’ll get the hint. Evidently, he does.

 

Slowly, as if approaching a spooked fox, Keith gingerly holds the toddler’s sides and heaves them up to sit on his hip. Airn squeals in delight, immediately shoving their chubby fingers in Keith’s hair. Keith winces and leans away as Airn’s hands are ensnared in his raven hair, and they begin yanking through the knots to free them. “Ah, ow ow ow, Lance!” Keith yelps. Snickering, Lance swoops to the rescue, quickly disentangling the grabby fingers, then pressing up against Keith’s shoulder, Airn squirming with excitement between them.

 

Lance holds up the camera and snaps a quick photo while Keith can still manage a toothless smile. Just after the flash goes off and the shutter clicks, he whips out his own phone (generously gifted from the Alteans) and sneakily takes another picture, delighted to see that Keith’s attention had returned to the babbling child in his arms and looked adequately confused.

 

With a few clicks, Lance sets it has his background.

 

Oblivious, Keith transfers Airn to their mother, who swings them up to sit on her shoulders. “Thank you, paladins. You have but no clue how grateful Yorshiva is to you for freeing our people from the Galra.” Her azure eyes became watery. “It is such a relief knowing that I will not lose my child.”

 

Lance’s brows pinch. “What do you mean? What was going to happen Airn?”

 

The woman took a shuddering breath, blinking away the moisture and squaring her shoulders. “Our previous government, ruled indirectly through Galra officials as we have been considered a Galra colony for many deca-phoebs, was very oppressive. I’m sure you’ve noticed the distinct coloration of our people?” Lance and Keith both nod as the woman gestures to her own skin, tinted a slightly darker yellow than her child’s. They’ve noticed this is common for the female Yorshiviks, most of which donned broad, strong builds to aid in hunting. Various shades of pink and magenta make up the male population, which was slightly smaller, but not any less intimidating.

 

“These colors are indications of our sex. However, as I’m sure you’ve noticed… Airn possesses both.”

 

“Wait, so you’re saying the government was going to take your kid just because they’re Androgynous?” Keith took a furious step forward, voice rising with his anger. Lance places a solid hand on his chest armor and holds him back.

 

“What would have happened to them?” Lance asks calmly, soft concern laced effortlessly through his voice.

 

The woman shakes her head, sorrow beating down her brow. “The worries of the past matter not, now.” When she looks back up, her eyes are so sincere and genuinely thankful, Lance almost staggers back. _“Thank you,_ Paladins. We are now able to rule ourselves, and I have regained hope -- something I once thought impossible -- because of your heroism. Thank you.” Lance can’t bring himself to react fast enough to dive into his ‘you saved yourselves, we’re just the cavalry’ speech before the woman gives them a quick bow, a sign of respect, and steps away from the line to allow the next onslaught of fangirls their turn.

 

Snapping out if it, Lance quickly returns to taking pictures with groups of teenage Yorshiviks and signing autographs. Keith stands back with his arms crossed, a contemplating scowl resting on his lips. Lance slips in next to him between picture-taking sessions and nudges his shoulder.

 

“At least _pretend_ to look like you want to be here,” he whispers.

 

“Pictures aren’t my thing, Lance. Especially not with strangers.” His voice seems particularly gruff and moody. Lance is having none of that.

 

He cocks a brow and glances out over the settling crowd, an idea forming. These people are getting bored; they’ve been standing in line all day. Might as well give them a show. And if what he’s about to do is also mostly to indulge himself, well… no one has to know.

 

“Well _I’m_ not a stranger, am I?” He barely waits for Keith’s marvelously inarticulate ‘huh?’ before he swiftly leans in, right hand gripping Keith’s left, his other flying up to cup Keith’s cheek and pull him forward. Some of the onlookers must be on their game today because there are camera flashes split seconds before Lance’s lips even meet Keith’s cheek.

 

He lets it linger, teasing, then pulls back and away, allowing Keith to stand frozen while Lance picks up his pen and continues signing posters and action figures like nothing even happened. Hopefully, the red tips of his ears aren’t horribly obvious.

 

Keith, on the other hand, is looking pretty flushed, a fact Lance would have been proud of if he didn’t absolutely refuse to read into it. No need to dig himself in deeper; he’s still hoping he’ll be able to climb back out at some point.

 

~*~

 

The rest of the day goes by without further event, unless you count Hunk and Pidge accidentally starting a flash mob at their table. They claim that they heard music -- the source of which is allegedly a mystery -- and just started dancing, but they were too in sync to not have practiced it.

 

Either way, Lance was more than happy to leap over his signing table and join them, while Shiro, Allura, and Coran looked on and held back laughter from the other side of the crowd, shaking their heads fondly. Lance didn’t get a chance to look for Keith.

 

Soon after things calmed back down, the autograph signing comes to a close and the team helps clean up as best they can before heading back to the Castle of Lions. Just as Lance is following Hunk through the opening of the tent, a piercing wail gives him pause. He whirls around, eyes immediately landing on Keith, kneeling before a crying child that wouldn’t have even come up to the paladin’s knee, were he standing.

 

“I-I can’t -- they’re not -- I can’t f-find them anywhere!!” He wails, body shaking like a leaf. Keith shushes him gently, carefully wiping away the overflowing tears and pushing his hair back.

 

“I’m sure they’re looking all over for you, too. We’re gonna go right now and find them, sound good?” The boy sniffles and nods, reaching a hand up just as Keith pushes to his feet and reaches down, wrapping the boy’s hand in his own.

 

The pair walks right up to Lance on their way out, and Keith explains that the little boy got separated from his parents and older brother. “I’m going to take him to the Lost and Found booth and see if they can help.” With that, Keith heads off, walking briskly through the lingering crowd and tugging the kid along with him.

 

..~*~..

 

Keith is acting weird.

 

Well, weird _er._

 

He’s always seemed like the strong and silent type, but this is taking it to an extreme. Outside of what’s absolutely necessary, he hasn’t spoken one word to anyone since the celebration on Yorshiva -- not even to Shiro, whom Keith had been inseparable with ever since their former leader finally made his recovery and emerged from a fucking coma. You’d think the poor guy would merit an exception when it came to Keith’s angsty brooding.

 

But Keith is hardly ever conventional, no matter the circumstance. Maybe he just _likes_ being difficult.

 

Either way, Shiro had tried his best to pry a conversation out of the kid -- something simple, even just _one word_ would be better than his current ghostly silence. It was sad to watch, actually; Keith wouldn’t even look at him. As soon as Shiro came to a momentary lapse in words, Keith spun on his heel without a second glance and barricaded himself in his room.  

 

By now the whole team has taken notice. Keith is known for being distant, but now he stands even farther from everyone during their idle conversations in the lounge or on the bridge (if he even bothers to stay in the room at all). When it counts, he’s always there, but dares not add to the discussion. He’s silent shadow lurking, always somewhere just out of reach, watching, listening.

 

They all soon learn that Shiro, despite -- or maybe _because_ of -- all the shit he’s been through, is just as stubborn as the red paladin; unrelenting in his attempts at small talk following missions and during meals.

 

At every opportunity that presents itself, Shiro doesn't hesitate to rope Keith into conversations. Things like, _"That was an interesting planet, huh? What did you think, Keith?"_ and _"Oh hey, how's your morning going?" “I see you’re training hard in here, need some company? How many levels have you cleared?”_ It's obvious and, quite frankly, kind of cringe-worthy, but at least he's trying. It apparently isn't enough, though; each and every time, Shiro is faced with crossed arms and a somber silence.

 

Hunk, alternatively, surprised Keith with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk after one of his training sessions. "Hey, Keith!” he’d announced, parading around a silver platter he’d found in one of the cupboards, like a waiter in a busy restaurant; bowtie and all. (Either he borrowed it from Coran, or he fastened a makeshift tie from his headband -- the details vary with each time he tells the story).

 

“I just made a fresh batch,” he’d said, holding the plate of cookies out with pride. They were frosted with tiny knives and Red Lion caricatures. “Interested in being a taste tester?"

 

While Hunk was retelling this story, Lance indignantly stated that _he_ was Hunk's one and only taste tester -- his pride and true, ride or die; his Michael Phelps of the food world; the John Harrison to Hunk’s Gordon Ramsay -- not _Mullet Head_.

 

After Lance was promptly ignored, it was reported that Hunk could decipher momentary shock and confusion from the former red paladin upon being ambushed with comfort foods outside the training deck by a bowtied Hunk, but all emotion had quickly drained from Keith's face. He’d turned and walked off down the hall without a word. His shoulders, to Hunk, had seemed a bit heavier than they’d been as he exited the training deck.

 

Nevertheless, Hunk’s attempt was a bust.

 

Allura has been not-so-subtly letting up on their group training activities, which is surprising, to say the least. Now, when they do come together for an exercise, she's sure to suggest something within Keith’s wheelhouse of interest. She even pulled him aside a couple times to reassure him that if it was his Galra heritage that had him worrying, there was no need, and he could always talk to her -- to all of them. That had, at least, softened Keith’s face a bit and prompted him to give a nod in understanding, though it was anything but convincing. They could tell he had no intention of taking any of them up on that offer. It was also apparent that while he appreciated the sentiment, it wasn’t his half-Galra blood that was bothering him.

 

Pidge kept her attempts more low-key (and if that was due to the fact that she had absolutely no idea how to make him feel better, there was no need to broadcast it). Whenever she finds him sitting alone in one of the castle hallways staring at a wall, she sidles up to him and plops down at his side. “Mind if I do my work here?” she would ask, already making herself comfortable on the cold linoleum floors. “It’s getting stuffy in my room."

 

He never protests, though doesn't show that he cares in the slightest if she's there. Not on his face, at least. He doesn’t have to. Pidge _sees,_ without fail, when Keith's shoulders slowly loosen as the comfortable silence drags on. Normally it would take hours to reach that point, but there had been times when Keith was noticeably calmer the moment Pidge sat down. No matter the time frame in between these moments, both paladins were content to have the gentle and consistent click-clacking of Pidge’s typing the only sound between them.

 

Coran, unwittingly adding evidence to Lance’s claim that he’s grown to be the crazy uncle of their gang, decides to pilot a more eccentric route. By some logic, the most effective path to raise Keith's spirits is apparently setting up an impromptu dance party on the control deck. However, it had obviously slipped the old man's mind to tell the others about this plan; they’re just as caught off-guard as Keith when, in the middle of a debriefing, what must have been the Altean equivalent of club music begins blasting through every speaker in the castle.

 

“Ohh, would you look at that!” Coran exclaims, surreptitiously jerking his hand away from the control panel and folding his fingers behind his back, innocent smile in place. “There must be a glitch in the castle’s storage database. Seems as if it is automatically playing some music files I had backed up! What a treat!”

 

The paladins watch in steadily growing horror as the man begins to dance audaciously, involving an almost obnoxious amount of spinning and leaping, like he’s starring in his very own one-man production of _The Nutcracker_. Coran vaults across the room towards Keith, who raises a brow, keeping his arms crossed snuggly across his chest armor.

 

Keith is stagnant as Coran dances around him, twirling, shaking his hips, seizing Keith’s hand and trying to coerce him into doing the wave (a move taught to him by a certain former blue paladin). The most hilarious by far is when he squats down to hip level, arms out to his sides and bent toward the ceiling, thrusting them up and down to the beat. He has the most absurd look on his face; eyes squeezed shut and teeth biting his bottom lip, the picture of deliberate comedy derived from ridiculousness.

 

Keith looks like he’s never judged someone so hard in his life.

 

All the paladins had been holding in laughter, but Lance is the first to break. He laughs openly and loudly, in a way that takes up his whole face and makes his eyes press shut; the way that has him doubling over and clutching at his sides. Pidge bursts shortly thereafter, and it isn’t long before she’s fallen completely, continuing to cackle from the ground. Hunk is chuckling behind his hand, trying hard to keep it at bay but eventually failing. Shiro’s fighting the smile on his face with vigor, and Allura just shakes her head, grinning fondly at her royal advisor. And all the while, Coran continues dancing.

 

Their joy swiftly dims, though, as they see that even through all of that, Keith has remained unresponsive. His face is as blank as ever, staring at Lance. The red paladin immediately sobers as he feels Keith’s heavy gaze settle on him. It might be dramatic on his part, but Lance feels like, with just one look, Keith has dumped the weight of the sky and stars onto his shoulders and said, “Start sprinting. And don’t stop until _I_ feel tired.”

 

An overall sense of impossibility settles around him, making the air shift, convulsing hot and heavy as it constricts his throat, and Lance’s heart drops into his stomach. Is there really nothing they can do? None of them will give up, of course, but Lance gets the horrifying sense that they can’t help anything, and uselessness -- a feeling he wishes he weren’t so accustomed to -- churns through his insides like wringing the water out of a wet rag.

 

It feels like stepping from a steaming shower and being doused in ice water, and Lance finds himself trembling as they watch Keith detach himself from Coran and lower quietly into his seat. It’s not like Keith would leave (they’re about to embark on a recon mission), but it is implicit to the rest of them that he would have if he could.

 

Lance continues staring even after everyone refocuses, watching Keith’s eyes glaze over repeatedly until he gives up trying to pay attention to the details and turns his unseeing gaze to the stars around them, dropping his head into one hand. Lance doesn't want to think about what Keith will do from here. Nothing is helping. Is this new closed-off Keith just something they’ll have to get used to? He was doing _so_ much _better,_ finally starting to open up to all of them on the team. None of them want to see him regress, but…

 

It’s obvious that he’s gone far past that.

 

..~*~..

 

    Keith is once again silent at dinner the day after Coran’s flop of a dance party, five days after the Yorshiva carnival celebration. He barely touches his food, opting to push it around with his spoon in swipes resembling puke-green paint strokes, ignoring the concerned and wary glances thrown his way from around the table.

 

It isn’t twenty minutes later he decides he’s wasted enough time and abruptly pushes his plate away, not looking at any of them as he stands and leaves the room in silence, effectively bringing all conversation to a halt. For whatever reason, once the eco of the doors closing has made its way around the room and died off, all eyes turn to Lance. He jumps, face flaring. “Jeez, what?!”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pidge asks.

 

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, nodding so vehemently (almost desperately) that the tails of his headband flap about his dark brown cheeks. “You’ll have the most luck out of all of us!”

 

Allura adds, “And we--” she gestures to others at the table and then to herself, “-- have all tried to speak with him already. However, we were each wildly unsuccessful.”

 

Shiro nods along. “You haven’t, yet.”

 

Lance looks at all of them in turn, a sour look slowly taking over his features. “And what makes you think he’ll want to talk to _me_ of all people? Keith hates me!” At this, exasperated and somewhat knowing looks are exchanged all around the table. Lance gets the sudden feeling that he’s being left out of some sort of common knowledge among the group. What do they know that he doesn’t?

 

“Dude,” Hunk says softly. “Keith doesn’t hate you.”

 

“Of course he does! He always has. Were none of you paying attention when we used to fight so much?!”

 

“ _‘Used to’_ being the operative phrase, here,” Pidge cuts in quickly. “You guys don’t fight nearly as much anymore, even before now; when he started acting like someone told him his life is a lie and Santa isn’t real. Moreover, back then, you were always the one who started the fights; you’re both just too prideful for your own good and he was firing back exactly what you shot at him, while you felt an obligation to keep your dumb ‘rivalry’ or whatever going. Needlessly, may I add.” She adjusted her glasses with an air of confidence and pride like it had taken her years of research to come to such a conclusion.

 

“You may not,” Lance states indignantly, crossing his arms and angling his body away from her out of spite. Pidge is officially _shunned_.

 

Chuckling fondly, Shiro attempts to explain further. “Lance, I know Keith. Trust me, he definitely doesn’t hate you. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but he does like being around us, and that includes you. Sometimes he just needs some space, is all.” He sighs, a troubled look dampening his features. There’s a pregnant pause and when he continues, Shiro’s voice has dropped dramatically. “I think we can all agree, however, that Keith has had a bit too much time to himself lately. All things considered,” his face brightens, albeit a bit forced, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some company right now.”

 

Allura makes a face, somehow scrunching her eyebrows together and raising them at the same time. Lance has to admit, it is kinda cute. Not that he’ll act on that thought; not long ago he would have, jumping at the opportunity to tell her what a beauty she is, but he’s found he respects Allura too much to continue any sort of flirtatious advancements, especially after she confronted him about it and finally (gently) rejected his affections. Since then, she’s grown to be more of a sister to him.

 

“Wait,” says Allura, “it sounds as if you know something.” She leans forward over the table, curious. “Are you aware of what is going on with Keith?”

 

“Like I said. I know him.” Shiro doesn’t offer any further explanation, promptly turning back to Lance and nodding in the direction Keith had left minutes before. “Go on.”

 

Lance remained rooted to his chair, muscles locked and tense. He feels a hand clap his shoulder and glances up to see Coran -- who had been relatively silent the entire conversation, probably still a little bummed that his dance party was a waste -- looking down at him with an encouraging expression.

 

“Lance, my boy,” he begins. “It may appear as though you and the red paladin are polar opposites. Not quite adversaries, but as close as can be while fighting for the same cause. However, I assure you and us all, that you and Keith are two sides of the same coin. Perhaps, if each of you step away from what is comfortable and safe, if you allow yourselves to be vulnerable to one another, you may find the things you feel are quite similar.

 

“Even-so, such a thing requires you meet in the middle. This means that _you_ must take the first step.” All at once, Coran’s serious tone dissipates and he leaps onto Keith’s empty chair beside Lance, one leg held straight out behind him, arms spread wide. “Go! Bond! Expose yourself to your teammate! You shan’t be disappointed!” A quick glance around the table saw the amused and agreeing faces of the rest of team Voltron.

 

Lance can’t help but grin at them, and then Coran, just for a moment.

 

And then that moment ended.

 

“But, guys, I mean _you_ all tried to help him and they were total and utter failures -- no offense, or anything.” Lance gets a few mildly offended raised eyebrows (he _said_ no offense, jeez!), but no one comments. He sighs, slumping in his chair. “How is _me_ attempting to talk with him going to go any better?”

 

Hunk rolls his eyes. “Oh my gosh, dude. I’m sorry, and I love you, but you’re oblivious as all heck.” Lance sputters indignantly, but Hunk continues. _“You_ were the one there for him when he went full-galra!”

 

“Well, that was a coincidence, really-”

 

“And _you_ made him feel better, and less like dying! None of us could have helped him like that, and you know it. He only really listens to you about things like this -- I mean, he listens to the rest of us -- well, mostly Allura and Shiro because like they’re in charge here -- but I mean, not even they could have pulled him out of a hole _that_ deep and angsty. Without your help, he never would have come to terms enough with his Glara features to get them to go away again.”

 

“I guess…” Lance mutters, pensively staring at his plate and slouching further.

 

“Plus, from what you told me, Keith _definitely_ did not react to your comforting like someone would if they hated y-”

 

Lance sits ramrod straight. “Okay well!! I might have been imagining some…” he clears his throat because _fuck_ voice cracks; he’s fine totally, absolutely fine with this topic of conversation they are currently discussing! “... _details,_ because I was probably, like, nervous -- or something!”

 

Pidge raises a perceptive brow. “Why exactly were you nervous to be comforting Keith?”

 

He jolts, stuttering _again, goddamnit-_ “B-Because!! It was a tense situation! I mean, I didn’t want to make him feel _worse,_ then _I_ would feel bad and he’d feel, like, _Superbad_ and it wouldn’t be good!”

 

“Lance,” Shiro chuckles. “Just go. You’ll do fine.”

 

Feeling more pressure than he deemed should be necessary for the situation, Lance stands from his seat. Fists clenching and face leveling off into cool determination, he leaves to go track Keith down. He won’t admit it to anyone (like at all, ever, not even Hunk’s choco-goo cookies could make him spill) but despite his calm stature, he’s ridiculously apprehensive, and without a clue as to exactly why. And yes, he adamantly believes that to be true; he has no idea why he would be nervous. No, he is _not_ in denial!

 

He’s never been this jittery to talk to Keith before. It’s _Keith._ Mr. Perfection; smart, intuitive, talented to a fault, and definitely not without the skill to back it up. The Galaxy Garrison’s star pupil. Top of his class… Number one…

 

Lance had always found himself eclipsed by the other boy at basically any task or skill under the sun, but for whatever reason, that didn’t intimidate Lance like it did their classmates. It only proved to tick him off. When he had first implemented their little rivalry, he was expecting indifference, not unlike the way Keith is acting now.

 

Needless to say, it was a surprise when the teenage prodigy had risen to every challenge and competition Lance threw at him.

 

He knew it was childish and that it’d never happen, but Lance felt thrills shoot up his spine at every opportunity to knock Keith off his high horse. With every fight, he gave his all to come out on top, if only to prove he was better than Keith at _something._ That was their thing. They were Lance and Keith, neck and neck. Lance had never been scared to confront him, never anxious about saying something wrong. Sure, he’s said some things he regrets in the past, but it was all petty and juvenile. If the way Keith has been acting over the past few days is anything to go by, this is serious. Lance could really mess something up, and he’s terrified of doing so.

 

And as if that weren’t enough, Lance is also entirely unsure how he’s going to go about this little heart-to-heart with someone he’s barely become friends with. The two couldn’t seem to even manage a normal conversation; not like with Hunk or the others. He definitely didn’t lack the experience of condoling his friends. However, Lance hadn’t really had the time to figure out his enigma of a mulleted teammate to know how to navigate a situation that calls for doing so.

 

Hands dug deep in his pockets and shoes scuffing on the metallic floor, Lance shrugs. Looks like he's winging this.

 

By the time Lance is walking up to Keith’s door, he’s only managed to plan out one-third of a monologue, which isn’t nearly enough to fill the silence Lance is surely going to be braving, but it’ll have to do. Maybe Keith will see him struggling and just kick him out or something.

 

But somehow, Lance doesn’t want this particular interaction with Keith to be cut short.

 

He blinks, fist hovering inches from the doors, and thinks, _well that’s new._ Shaking it off, Lance takes the plunge and knocks.

 

When the doors open, the room is dark and Keith is nowhere to be found. The bed was made haphazardly; as if he’d simply thrown the blanket over the mattress and left it at that. Keith’s jacket is hanging on a hook to Lance’s right, and a little red flag rears its ugly head in his mind.   _I didn’t think he went anywhere without that jacket…_ He shakes his head. _Training deck,_ Lance decides, then turns on his heel.

  


Keith isn’t there either. That, however, doesn’t mean there aren’t signs of his presence. From the looks of things, Keith has definitely been getting his minutes in over the past few days.

 

No one doubts he has almost everyone beat when it comes to total practice time, except for maybe Shiro, who is rarely ever spotted training, but somehow still creates a considerate discrepancy in numbers. Hunk has rationalized that their leader trains in the dead of night when they’re all asleep; possibly induced by nightmares about his captivity. Lance has joked about commissioning Pidge to hack in and rack his own numbers up.

 

He makes himself refocus.

 

There’s a number of ominous black smudges on the walls; like a science experiment had gone wrong at least twenty-nine different ways, and all had reacted explosively. Either that or Keith had recently gotten into charcoal painting and decided the world was his oyster. Lance allows himself a small, lopsided smile at the thought. It seems like something Keith might do.

 

Here and there, Lance spots some jagged pieces of sheet metal and/or gears strewn around the room, likely originating from the countless robots Keith mauled, nevermind the short time span.

 

Lance fleetingly remarks on how Keith is by far the most aggressive guy his age that Lance has ever met, rivaling even his own siblings; he’s surprised to find the walls knife-free. Not one sharp projectile protruded from the paneling, although it looked as if a few had in the past.

 

Even still, despite the signs of his teammate’s animalistic training tactics, Keith is still MIA. “Does the guy even go anywhere else?” Lance wonders to himself. He supposes it would be ridiculous for Keith’s life outside of missions to solely encompass food, sleeping, and training. But since he refuses to socialize with the rest of them, there doesn’t seem to be much else to do on this castle.

 

Lance has no clue, but he’s not about to head back without giving this whole Cheer-Keith-Up thing a fair shot, however ludacris the idea sounds.

 

~*~

 

Somewhere near the outskirts of the south wing of the castle ship, the lights gradually diminish in vibrancy until they’re flickering a slow and eerie tempo, eventually stuttering to a lifeless halt. Lance tries not to let it creep him out. The castle has already tried to kill him once (technically, twice), there’s no way it would happen again.

 

Right?

 

It better fucking not.

 

He’s _this_ close to convincing himself that he had, in fact, heard the pained groaning of the undead coming to rip off his flesh and gnaw on his bones, when he stumbles upon light, streaming out in a thin line from behind a door left slightly ajar. It isn’t until he’s reaching for the knob that the music finally reaches him. It’s enough to halt his movements, make him stop and listen.

 

It sounds like a piano, only slightly off -- which makes sense, considering the chances of Altean instrument designs being completely compatible with those of Earth were slim to none.

 

It doesn’t sound authentic; he can’t hear the dull thunk of the hammers hitting the strings hidden within the belly of the graceful beast. Even the clacking of the keys being pushed down is inaudible. It was too perfect. He could hear notes, chords; could feel the rhythms beating deep in his chest, but it was still too… quiet.

 

Lance had grown up with these sounds, the ringing of the notes, the beating of the keys and the emotion floating through and tapping against his mind; always just out of reach, but attainable if he listened hard enough. His sister, Veronica, is an aspiring composer. Lance still remembers sitting under the piano, watching her socked feet push the petals as her fingers nimbly pressed the keys above his head. He feels a phantom-pain of the knots he’d get in his neck after falling asleep on the piano bench, leaning on Nica’s arm with a shark plushie clutched to his chest. It makes him smile even as he tries to rub the prickling feeling away.

 

Lance’s eyes close as the music trickles out from behind the door and surrounds him, a haze falling over his mind. He doesn’t have the restraint to keep himself from wondering about her, and could almost convince himself that she was just beyond the door he leaned on now. Instead, he ponders in his mind if she’s decided to pursue her dream, after all.

 

How long has it even been since he last saw her? When he left for the Garrison what seems like a lifetime ago, she was in a rather daunting slump. He’s sure she’s gotten past that hurdle; it was only one out of many to come. She’s probably well on her way to a promising career… and he’s missing all of it...

 

No. He’s here to help Keith feel better, not wallow in homesickness like he’d be doing on any other slow night. This is important, he can’t make it about him.

 

Lance gingerly pushes into the room by no more than an inch and hopes to whatever higher being is out there that the old hinges don’t screech in protest. Despite the glaringly apparent cracks and chasms in the sound’s authenticity, it’s a beautiful song. It sounds familiar, as well. Lance doesn’t want it to stop before he can put a title to it.

 

It appears that someone up there is feeling generous because Lance manages to slip into the room with more grace than he’d been expecting of himself. The trend continues as Lance processes what’s in front of him and, surprisingly, takes the scene in stride.

 

Not three yards away is Keith. In front of him is a roundtable that reaches the high ceiling, layers and layers of colorful keys and twisty pipes lining the outside. The instrument seems to be made for an entourage of Alteans to play at once, and Lance assumes the height wouldn’t have been an issue for the chameleon-esque, shapeshifting people.

 

Keith is standing comfortably before a set of keys just above his waist level, head dipped to follow the fluid movements of his fingers. He’s wearing one of the mind-meld headsets Coran had used for team bonding their first day on the ship, the tech throwing a soft blue glow around the room and casting shadows on the keys.

 

Keith plays the melody of the song over and over, each time becoming more complicated and increasingly weighed down by emotion. There’s a second part written into the song that is currently playing itself, phantom fingers pushing the keys without Keith having to give a second glance. Lance is just getting over the awe he feels at the tender mood filling the room like silent static when, with a flick of the wrist, the key shifts to minor and Lance is thrown for a loop.

 

The change in emotion is instant, leaping from airy and vulnerable to hard-hitting and longing. Lance can feel the anguish and frustration pouring into him, and for a moment he almost mistakes them for his own feelings. Then he refocuses on Keith -- on his face pulled tight and the tension in his shoulders as he shifts and moves with the music -- and knows that it’s all radiating from that boy, like unbridled heat from a supernova.

 

Lance had never considered that the quietest paladin had such strong emotions writhing within him. For the most part, Keith was placid as the ocean surface far out at sea. The team provided a reason for Lance to get close enough to see past that, and he now knew Keith had the temper of a forest fire constrained in a glass box. They’ve all born witness to the shine in Keith’s eye and the bite to his words when that glass shatters. But not like this. What Lance is seeing is a tsunami clawing at a concrete cage, prying open every crack and fissure and washing out in violent waves once the dam crumbles.

 

Lance is rooted to the spot, and he really can't bring himself to care if he drowns.

 

All too soon, the song is ending and every semblance of the sound of music is drained from the room, replaced by Keith’s unsteady breathing as he stares down at the keys. They stand like that for who knows how long, and Lance’s heart refuses to dislodge itself from his throat.

 

Didn’t he have a speech planned out? Lance could have sworn he had a speech… then he should probably be doing that right now… how did it start again?

 

Then Keith is looking up and meeting his eyes and Lance loses any hope of sounding calm and collected. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Keith speaks first. “How long have you been standing there?” His voice is haggard and breathy, choked off by lingering emotion. It almost didn’t sound like a question with the lack of any energy.

 

“I… I don’t really know…”

 

Keith looks back down at the keys, brow furrowing. “Neither do I.”

 

There are a lot of things Lance wants to say. He wants to tell him the song was beautiful, that he should play for the whole team someday; that Keith has no idea how relieved Lance is that he’s found an outlet, how happy hearing his voice just made Lance after days of nothing. Lance wants to ask where he learned that song, if he had a piano back on Earth and if he played often to pass the time. He wants to ask Keith to teach him the second part to the song, already imagining what it would be like to play a duet again and knowing it would be far different with Keith than it ever was with his big sister. Although… not a bad different. No, definitely a very good one.

 

None of that comes out of his mouth, though.

 

“They, uh, they sent me to look for you,” is what he says instead.

 

“I figured.” Lance quirks his head. “You’re the only one that hasn’t tried to get me to talk yet.”

 

At that, he grins. “Well, looks like I just succeeded. Piece of cake. You know, you really made it too easy; I didn’t even have to say anything,” he teases, well aware that he was getting dangerously close to rambling but unable to stop the words from coming.

 

Keith gives a small eye-roll and sits on a nearby bench still within arms reach of the instrument, and Lance gets a small thrill at the familiar behavior. Even if it was muted, Lance hopes it’s a sign Keith would be okay after all. “You caught me at a delicate time, is all.”

 

“Yeah… I felt it, too. How did you do that?” Keith reaches up and slides the mindmeld device from his head, leaving his hair adorably mussed, and holds it in his lap as he turns it off.

 

“The piano is synced with this thing --” he waves it around slightly, “-- to amplify the wearer’s thoughts and emotions and project it into the music.”

 

Lance gingerly sits beside him on the bench. Keith doesn’t move to make room, nor do either of them comment when they end up pressed together all along Keith’s right side. “Those were some pretty powerful emotions.” Keith nods. Carefully, Lance asks, “What… were you thinking about?”

 

It’s silent awhile, long enough for Lance to decide Keith won’t answer. Staring at the keys, he thinks about what Coran had said before he’d left the dining room. _If you allow yourselves to be vulnerable to one another, you may find the things you feel are quite similar._ _Even-so, such a thing requires you meet in the middle._ Lance just has to take the first step.

 

He could do that.

 

“You know, I never thought it possible, but you remind me of my sister. You even kinda look like her, with the dark hair and pretty eyes and all...” That made Keith look up, eyes wide and confused, but also... hopeful?

 

Lance awkwardly clears his throat _(oh my god I just called his eyes pretty! To his face!! What am I doing?!?)_ and plows on. “She’s a composer. At least, I think she is. I wasn’t really there for her debut, getting caught up in Voltron and all.” He shrugs, trying to paste on an easygoing smile.

 

“She’s amazing, really. If I hadn’t become a pilot, I might’ve been a pianist, simply to follow in her footsteps. That’s how much I looked up to her. Besides Shiro, Nica was my hero.” His nose began to tingle and he felt heat prickling behind his eyes. Head dropping a bit to hide his face, Lance says, “I miss her. So much. I miss all of them...”

 

More silence.

 

Then,

 

“My mom.” Lance straightens slightly, thinking maybe he hallucinated the quiet whisper when Keith says again, “I was thinking about my mom. Today… today’s the anniversary of the day she left.”

 

Whoever said Coran doesn’t know his way around people?

 

“Oh…” Lance sniffs. That explains basically everything that’s been going on with Keith.

 

In any other situation, Lance would have let the quiet draw on while he hashes out how to continue; if he should push the subject or leave it be and see what the other decides. But he gets an odd feeling of comfortability sitting here with Keith, and there’s no need for him to think too hard before asking, “Will you tell me about her?” because he doesn’t have a doubt that Keith will.

 

“I don’t remember much. I was pretty young. I do know that she loved the piano. Now I know that she liked it so much because the Galra must not have anything like it.” His fingers reach out and gently toy with the keys. He plays a major chord, then switches to minor. Lance shivers.

 

“We had this old electric keyboard that my dad got when he was little. He was never very passionate about it, but I guess he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it; it was a Christmas gift or something like that. She was on it almost constantly, and according to my father, she picked it up frighteningly quickly.”

 

That quite literally might have been the most Lance has heard Keith say in one sitting. He smiles softly. “Guess you get that from her, then.”

 

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitches. “Guess so.” The small smile fades as something else passes over Keith’s mind. “I’ve just been thinking about family a lot lately, you know?” Lance definitely relates.

 

“With Airn and their mother from Yorshiva, and the little boy who got lost… When we finally found his family, it was both heartbreaking and comforting how worried they were for him. Kinda bittersweet, I guess. It got me thinking. Their family… it would have looked exactly like mine if I was just dealt a better hand in life, I guess. If things didn’t go to shit.”

 

It’s silent again, evident that that was all Keith had to say on the matter. Then Lance asks what song he was playing, and Keith replies, “Heart and Soul. It was my mom’s favorite. The first one Dad showed her.”

 

Lance nods, finally recognizing the simple tune he’d heard so many times before. “That was the first thing my sister learned, too.”

 

Finally, Keith looks up at him. “Do you know it?”

 

“I mean… I used to. Definitely not the version you were playing, though. That was…” _amazing, thrilling, beautiful,_ “really cool.”

 

Keith looks like he wants to say something, words shining behind violet eyes and mouth parting slightly. The next moment, he’s biting down on a plush lip and shaking his head, evidently deciding against it. Lance really tries hard not to read too much into it, but it's a fruitless attempt. Instead of pressing, though, Lance asks how Keith learned to play.

 

He pauses a moment, seeming to mull it over before saying, “I loved it because she did. Whenever she was playing, I was right there with her.” It reminded Lance again of he and his sister, but he didn’t dare interrupt Keith to say so. “Mostly, I would just sit and listen. But then she taught me a few duets, and I wanted to keep learning more to play on my own… I wanted to her be proud of me.

 

“It was one of those teaching keyboards, the one we had” Keith clarifies, a little sparkle coming to his eyes. “There was a tiny screen, and you could flip through a list of songs and it would teach you how to play, step by step. Note by note.” Then, lord have mercy, Keith actually smiles. It’s a small one, but it’s there, and Lance is once again scrambling for purchase as the world starts tilting on its axis. “I think the last song I learned was… Peter Pan?” He nods, other hand coming up to mess with the keys in tandem with the first. “Yep, that was it; _You Can Fly_.” He plays the chorus along to Lance muttering the lyrics under his breath.

 

“I remember the night I perfected it, ha, I was so excited. So proud of myself, almost _too_ eager to show her.” The smile dimmed considerably and Lance silently mourned its loss. “As I was dragging the keyboard out into the living room to show them, well… they were distracted.”

 

Keith goes silent so long, Lance leans a bit further into his view, inquisitive look asking him to keep going. Keith sighs. “They were fighting. Rather loudly. I didn’t understand back then -- I must have been, like, four. But I get it now. He was begging her to stay. She was saying she’d already been there for too long. Judging by the way things turned out, guess she won that one.” Almost as an afterthought, Keith adds, “I never did get to show her Peter Pan.”

 

Lance is near in tears. “I-I can’t believe you remember all that. I’m so-” His apology is cut off when Keith tells him he actually didn’t remember. Lance doesn’t miss the sharpness of his tone, the way his sentence was clipped at the beginning. It was a scramble, a frantic and quick-witted reach for something to drown Lance out with before he could ruin this by saying he’s sorry. Lance figures that after a point, hearing those words over and over would get rather aggravating, losing all valuable meaning.

 

Tuning back in on the tail end of Keith’s sentence, he only hears, “-didn’t remember.” Then Keith clarifies, “Not until I started playing just now, anyway. The mindmeld brought it all back. Before that, I really only had bits and pieces.” Keith won’t look up from the keys.

 

_Okay, this is it,_ Lance thinks, as the flow in conversation begins to dwindle into an uncomfortable silence. He thinks carefully about his next move, hoping to god he doesn’t scare Keith away with whatever comes out of his mouth next. He’s already been toeing the line with all the personal questions he’s been firing off, and he wants anything but to continue to push his luck. Especially with someone like Keith.

 

“Hey, Keith? Do you ever wonder what it would be like… if she were here? With you?” Keith’s answer is immediate.

 

“All the time.”

 

Leading seamlessly into a follow-up question, Lance asks, “Have you ever wanted to go find her? Do you… do you want to find her now?”

 

Painstakingly slowly, Keith finally lifts his gaze from the keys, but when it settles on Lance, those deep eyes locking onto his own, a traitorous part of Lance wishes he could evade them.

 

This look reminds him of the day before, when Keith had, inexplicably, stared outright at Lance as he laughed at Coran’s antics. Then, Lance had perceived it as judgment running ramped in Keith’s mind, somehow staying detached from his blank expression. Now, almost the exact same look has an unsurpassable difference. Lance doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t know what to make of anything anymore.

 

“I don’t know,” Keith says. “I mean, of course, I want to see her again, I’ve missed her… a lot.” He sighs as if this is a dilemma he’s put a little too much thought into. “But she had to leave for a reason. Some nights, I believe that it was because of me…” Lance is all too prepared to jump in and refute, unease and something like ominous dread seizing in his chest, but Keith barrels on before he can. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive; there’s a lot that could have happened to her out here. It’s better not to get my hopes up and… and just do what we came out here to do.”

 

Lance makes a face. “What,” he bites, distaste lining his voice and leaving a bad taste on his tongue, “save the universe? None of us asked for this, Kei-”

 

“Yet we’re the only ones who can do it.” Keith’s tone had taken an edge, steadily rising with each word he lets past his pretty lips _(wait-)._ “We can’t be distracted, Lance. Developing false hope won’t get me anywhere but heartbreak!” he screams, cheeks coloring a faint pink.

 

Lance is momentarily taken aback by the outburst. He doesn’t know what it is, but something squirms in his stomach and whispers to him that Keith isn’t just talking about his mother anymore. What else he could have been referring to, Lance hasn’t a clue.

 

Whatever the heck that was, Lance expels it from his mind and straightens. “What do you mean? You’re already distracted!” Keith blinks, the fight draining out of him. “Keith, you’ve been acting like the walking dead for _days._ We’ve all noticed that you’re not eating, you’re quieter than normal -- which I wouldn’t have even thought possible but here we are -- and I’ll bet on the blue lion that you’re not sleeping any more than you were before. Which, by the way, was already slim to none.”

 

“How do you-”

 

“I pay attention, okay? You guys may think I’m an idiot, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s reading people.”

 

Keith took on a slightly horrified look, eyes the size of dinner plates and mouth wide open. Lance’s confusion comes back tenfold. “Y-You are? Good at… at reading people?” he asks.

 

Lance knits his brows. “Well, yeah. I know an insomniac when I see one, and anyone with half a brain could sense the shift in your attitude these past five days.”

 

“Oh... oh, good,” Keith says, sighing and looking relieved. _Why is that such a relief, though?_ Keith clears his throat. “Um. Well, I guess you’re kind of right… I have been distracted. I don’t know why this whole thing has me broken up _now_ of all times.” Keith bores holes into the keys with his confused glare. He sighs. “I guess it has something to do with knowing she was Galra and being out here where there’s actually a possibility of finding her… even if it’s small.”

 

“Keith.” Lance puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning just a fraction closer. “We’ll find her, just like we’ll find Pidge’s family. When all this with Zarkon and the Galra Empire is over, we’ll find them. Only if you want to look, though.”

 

Keith shakes his head slowly. “I know we _could --_ if we even survive all of this -- but... Look, Lance, I… I just want to be done thinking about this. I’ve spent too much time already letting this get to me.” Lance nods, and it’s quiet again.

 

“Lance?” Keith asks. “Can I ask you something? Did you _want_ to come talk to me, or did the others make you?”

 

“I… I did hesitate,” he says honestly, “and they did make me come, but-”

 

Keith interrupts mid-sentence, seeming disappointed. “Right, uh. Yeah -- yeah, that makes sense,” he stutters, already starting to stand. “Um, well-”

 

“But I really did want to make you feel better.” Lance forces the words out before Keith can slip away. “I only hesitated because I didn’t think I could… I mean, I thought you hated me. Or at the most, reluctantly tolerated my existence.”

 

Keith’s awkward, slightly panicked look melts off his face. “Of course I don’t hate you.” Lance waits for him to continue, for the dig, the teasing insult that still -- annoyingly -- always stings just a bit; the one that _always_ accompanies the rare compliments he receives from Keith. But it never comes.

 

Keith is standing now, so, thinking that their conversation has come to a close, Lance fixes his gaze on the keys in front of him and waits for the other boy to leave. Because of this, it really isn’t his fault that he gasps, jaw dropping and eyes going comically wide when he feels the kiss on his cheek; he was not properly prepared. Mind still scrambling to make sense of what just happened, his eyes snap up and are met with deep, mystifying purple.

 

It’s only for a moment, but that’s plenty of time for Lance to get lost in the constellations shifting in those pretty eyes. It reminds him of how far they’ve come, floating out in deep space, an incomprehensible distance from Earth. Yet at the same time, Lance is thrown for how much they feel like _home._

 

Those are his sister’s eyes, the ones she’d gotten from their mother, and that Lance’s nephew had gotten from her. Those are eyes he’s seen every day of his life, crinkled with mirth as his mother laughed at his antics, or brimming with authority as she scolded him for sneaking out without permission. They're eyes he’d seen rolling, fondly exasperated as he asked his big sister to play him a song before bedtime, then proceed to light up as she agreed, almost overflowing with the power she put behind the music. They're the wide eyes of a kid that looked just like his father, Veronica’s husband, if not for the way he looked up at Lance; for the familiar, trusting sparkle that accompanied it.

 

They’re the eyes of a boy Lance once thought he couldn’t stand, and now knows he couldn’t live without, and he doesn’t care that he’s drowning.

 

Keith’s face is red as he straightens from his previous position, slightly hunched over Lance’s shoulder. One hand was holding himself up on the bench, and the other had been resting so lightly at the small of Lance’s back, he hadn’t even noticed until Keith was pulling away. He practically _sprints_ from the room, leaving Lance staring after him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like Keith had knocked some sort of screw loose with that kiss.

  
_Holy crow,_ he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Keith likes Shakespeare *wink wonk* (Fun fact so do I). He AVIDLY keeps this info away from Lance, for fear of the deadly flirting utilizing romantic sonnets that might ensue. Lance will find out anyway, I'm sure. *second wink* I frickin'-chicken love Keith being flustered and awkward around kids, but also being super protective and level-headed when they need help. Lance likes it too ; )) ..that makes three winks I need to stop...
> 
> I also personally headcanon that Coran dances like either a superhuman ballerina on crack or Star from SVTFOV, there is no in between. 
> 
> Once again, total honesty here, I came up with the idea for this while talking to myself in my bathroom mirror (its not weird ok stop judging me) and it was actually only supposed to be that scene at the Altean Piano. That's it. I got a little carried away... Speaking of which!! Yeah, there's gonna be a second chapter, because this was already pretty long so I split it. (Also I just wanted to freaking post it already). Next part is... sometime soon, I hope?? I dunno


End file.
